Summer is here! (drawing of the day + reading recommendation) / Ljeto je tu! (crtež dana +preporuka za čitanje)!

Today's fashion illustration is that- of a swimsuit! Very appropriate for this heat. What's your favourite thing about Summer? Is it eating ice-cream without a guilty conscience? That magical scent of Summer rain? Is it waking up ridiculously early, but instead of a cold darkness being greeted by a gentle dawn? Or is the way days tend to last longer, but still fly by so far? Is it the long evening walks? I know, I know...so many glorious things to choice from, who could name just one. 

Današnja modna ilustracija je - ona kupaćega kostima. Vrlo prikladno za ovu vrućinu. Koja je vama najdraža stvar kod ljeta? Jedenje sladoleda bez grižnje savjesti? Čarobni miris ljetne kiše? Buđenje smiješno rano ujutro, a umjesto hladne tame tamo čeka  nježna zora? Ili je to što se čini da dani traju dugo, a opet tako brzo prolete? Ili su to duge kasne šetnje? Znam, znam...toliko toga se može odabrati, tko bi odabrao samo jednu stvar. 

Summer. Wearing a one piece swimsuit as a top. Why not? Time when we get to feel like a queen of a jungle- even if the only jungle we have ever seen is a concrete one. Summer. Time when imagination roars wild. Summer. The smell of roses in city gardens. Summer. Daily visit to library. 

Ljeto. Nošenje jednodijelnoga kupaćega kao topa. Zašto ne? Vrijeme kada se možemo osjećati kao kraljica jungle, čak i kada je jedina jungla u kojoj smo bili ona urbana. Ljeto. Vrijeme kada mašta divlja. Ljeto.  Miris ruža u gradskim vrtovima. Ljeto. Dnevni posjeti knjižnici. 

CITED FROM POETRY FOUNDATION

Marina Tsvetaeva | Poetry Foundation

from “Poems for Moscow”

BY MARINA TSVETAEVA

NEW VERSIONS FROM THE RUSSIAN BY ILYA KAMINSKY AND JEAN VALENTINE

From my hands—take this city not made by hands,

my strange, my beautiful brother.

Take it, church by church—all forty times forty churches,

and flying up the roofs, the small pigeons;

And Spassky Gates—and gates, and gates—

where the Orthodox take off their hats;

And the Chapel of Stars—refuge chapel—

where the floor is—polished by tears;

Take the circle of the five cathedrals,

my coal, my soul; the domes wash us in their darkgold,

And on your shoulders, from the red clouds,

the Mother of God will drop her own thin coat,

And you will rise, happened of wonderpowers

—never ashamed you loved me.

March 31, 1916

Besides sharing this illustration, I would also like to recommend two books to you: Eva Luna by Isabel Allende and Selected Poems by Marina Tsvetaeva. I already wrote a book review for Eva Luna, you can read it here. I've been a fan of Allende's writing for a while (here is a review I wrote for another book of hers). I don't have a review for Marina yet, it might take me a while to write it. You can find some of Tsvetaeva's poetry (translated in English) on wikipedia here. 

Osim ove ilustracije, voljela bih vam i preporučiti dvije knjige: Eva Luna od Isabel Allende i Izabrane pjesme Marine Cvjetajeve. Napisala sam već ogled knjige za Evu Lunu, možete ga pročitati ovdje. Već sam duže ljubitelj spisateljice Isabel Allende (još jedan ogled možete pročitati ovdje). Za Marinu nemam još ništa napisano, a možda će mi i trebati još vremena da nešto napišem. Neke njezine pjesme možete pročitati u hrvatskom prijevodu ovdje.

POEMS CITED FROM Marina Tsvetaeva. Do not laugh at young generation!.. (ruverses.com)

Марина Цветаева
Не смейтесь вы над юным поколеньем!

Не смейтесь вы над юным поколеньем!
Вы не поймёте никогда,
Как можно жить одним стремленьем,
Лишь жаждой воли и добра…

Вы не поймёте, как пылает
Отвагой бранной грудь бойца,
Как свято отрок умирает,
Девизу верный до конца!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Так не зовите их домой
И не мешайте их стремленьям, —
Ведь каждый из бойцов — герой!
Гордитесь юным поколеньем!

~ 1906

Marina Tsvetaeva
Do not laugh at young generation!..

Do not laugh at young generation!
You'll never fathom in your mind
How to live just with aspiration,
With fervor for the good and kind...

You will not fathom how with courage
Aflame is the young warrior's chest,
How sacredly the teen is dying
Loyal to the motto until death!

So do not call them right back home
And don't mess with their aspiration —
Each warrior is a hero, so
Be proud of the young generation.

Marina Tsvetaeva. Do not laugh at young generation!.. (ruverses.com)

Marina Tsvetaeva
To Sergei

You could not make peace with your dismay, and
Conquered laughter that wounds pitying.
Like a candle at a piano, burning
Lighter than all others in the heaven.

And thus stated Christ, father of love:
“Mom is mourning for you downstairs,
Her soul is sadder than empty temple,
World is woeful. Call her to yourself.”

Since that time, when yellow is the wood,
She alone through gold of leaves is looking
As if though something she is seeking
In the darkness of the heaven blue.

And when lean to soil autumn flowers
Like, without laughter, a childish look
From bright lips, like an echo, is tearing
A quiet moan: “Oh, my boy, it is you!”

Call, oh call, with greater might her call!
Of the earth, where all is trouble,
And of how lovely to be with God is,
Tell me everything, for kids know all!

Life is joy or madness, you have known,
You have gone, not bothering the doubts...
You have gone... Sergei, you've been a wise one!
World is woeful. God does not have woe!

Марина Цветаева
Серёже

Ты не мог смирить тоску свою,
Победив наш смех, что ранит, жаля.
Догорев, как свечи у рояля,
Всех светлей проснулся ты в раю.

И сказал Христос, отец любви:
«По тебе внизу тоскует мама,
В ней душа грустней пустого храма,
Грустен мир. К себе её зови».

С той поры, когда желтеет лес,
Вверх она, сквозь листьев позолоту,
Всё глядит, как будто ищет что-то
В синеве темнеющих небес.

И когда осенние цветы
Льнут к земле, как детский взгляд без смеха,
С ярких губ срывается, как эхо,
Тихий стон: «Мой мальчик, это ты!»

О, зови, зови сильней её!
О земле, где всё — одна тревога
И о том, как дивно быть у Бога,
Всё скажи, — ведь дети знают всё!

Понял ты, что жизнь иль смех, иль бред,
Ты ушёл, сомнений не тревожа…
Ты ушёл… Ты мудрый был, Серёжа!
В мире грусть. У Бога грусти нет!

Marina Tsvetaeva
I`m just a girl. My duty...

I'm just a girl. My duty
Before the wedding altar is
Not to forget, everywhere are — wolfs
And to remember: I am — a sheep.

Dreaming about a golden castle
Shake, turn, jump
At first a doll, and later
No doll, but nearly one.

In my hand there is no sword
No singing string.
I'm just a girl — silent.
Oh, if I were only

Looking at the stars to know that
There is a star for me too,
I would smile at all eyes around me,
Not lowering my eyes!

Марина Цветаева
Только девочка

Я только девочка. Мой долг
До брачного венца
Не забывать, что всюду — волк
И помнить: я — овца.

Мечтать о замке золотом,
Качать, кружить, трясти
Сначала куклу, а потом
Не куклу, а почти.

В моей руке не быть мечу,
Не зазвенеть струне.
Я только девочка, — молчу.
Ах, если бы и мне

Взглянув на звёзды знать, что там
И мне звезда зажглась
И улыбаться всем глазам,
Не опуская глаз!

1909-1910

 

BUY MY BOOK